


Every Face Wears a Mask

by raphae11e



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Crime Fighting, Developing Friendships, Gen, Identity Reveal, superhero duo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-10 03:17:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11682897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raphae11e/pseuds/raphae11e
Summary: Spider-Man and Daredevil made a pretty good superhero tag team, if they were being honest. They were acquaintances. Business partners, maybe, but nothing more than that. After all, it was kind of hard to be friends with a guy when you didn't know his name, or his face.Neither of them should have expected to stay anonymous for long. But in the end, maybe familiarity wasn't such a bad thing.





	Every Face Wears a Mask

**Author's Note:**

> I've always loved both Matt and Peter, but this is the first time I've actually felt compelled to write something about them, and their relationship. Hooray, red-clad superhero team!!!!!!!!! 
> 
> Let it be known that this fic takes place before the events of Homecoming, so Peter's literally had like, no experience. He is just a baby, please treat him gently.

Matt didn’t often give out his contact information to fellow superheroes. It still felt strange even calling himself one of them; sure, he had the suit now, and the moniker, and the area of operation. Regardless, he preferred to keep to himself and clean up Hell’s Kitchen how he saw fit.

There was one person he’d agreed to give his number to, and that was Spider-Man. The two of them had worked together a few times, seen each other out at night, so it just seemed like an obvious choice. Spider-Man was clearly new to the whole vigilante life, too; he’d only started appearing on the news several months ago. Matt knew what it was like to be out of your depth in this line of work. He’d offered, and the guy had accepted, and that was that.

“This just in: a group of armed men have broken into a branch of Wells Fargo Bank not far from Central Park. To make matters worse, a group of students who were touring the bank are now being held captive. Police have surrounded the premises and are attempting to reason with the criminals--”

Matt turned his head, feeling Foggy’s eyes on him from across the office.

“It’s broad daylight!” His friend said. “These guys must be pretty confident in their bank-robbing skills to pull something at the busiest time of day. _And_ in a busy area.”

“Yeah,” Matt replied distractedly.

In the background the broadcast was still playing. “Citizens outside the bank have expressed hope that one of New York’s masked heroes will come to assist the police, who are still waiting on a response from the criminals.”

Both of them were quiet. Then Foggy sighed. “Alright, Matt. Go ahead.”

Jumping up from his chair to collect his things, silently thanking God that he’d stashed a spare suit in the office, Matt flashed an appreciative smile. “Thanks, Foggy,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah. Just get over there before anything happens.”

Matt took Foggy’s advice to heart; the bank wasn’t too far from where they worked on the outskirts of Hell’s Kitchen, but it was far enough that he took to the rooftops to avoid attention. _Doing this during the day is strange_ , he thought as he reached the right street. He used a fire escape to make his way back down to street level and found a place to toss his clothes for later.

As he pulled on his old uniform, tugging the black mask over his eyes, he heard something vibrate against the concrete. His phone. In his rush to get to the scene he’d forgotten to leave it with Foggy.

“Spider-Man,” the phone chirped from where it was buried in his suit jacket.

“Spider-Man?” Matt echoed. “He’s calling me _now_?”

Before he could move to answer, his phone went silent. Huh. He didn’t often get calls from the webslinger, _especially_ not during the day. There was something strange about it, but Matt didn’t have time to think about it right now.

Moving carefully along the back of the building, Matt heard the clipped conversations of the police lineup. Numerous officers talking into radios, discussing things with each other. Though Matt could only hear the heartbeats of four men-- the hostages sounded different, fast paced out of fear instead of adrenaline-- the number of police on the scene was enormous. _Probably because of the kids,_ Matt thought grimly. He couldn’t blame the force for wanting to be careful.

As he turned the corner out of the alleyway, there was a scuffle from inside. Judging by the way sound traveled through the wall, this side of the bank contained employee’s offices: lots of small rooms, lots of surfaces to reflect sound back and forth.

“Don’t say a _word,_ ” someone growled. A door was shut and locked. “I swear to God, kid, if you don’t think I’ll shoot then I have some news for y--”

A thud, followed by a muffled noise of pain, followed by another thud. Then it was silent. It sounded like the robber had fallen, but that couldn’t be right, and Matt had no way of telling for sure.

“Hey, man, you okay in there?” Another of the robbers, talking quietly enough that the hostages most likely wouldn’t hear. These criminals were clearly unprepared and inexperienced, which made Matt breathe a sigh of relief. If he timed things right, he’d be able to take them out fairly quickly.

 _Alright, Murdock_ , he thought. _Time to act._

He snuck around the corner and made his way slowly along the side of the bank. It was stationed on a corner lot, with the back facing the alleyway Matt had come from. The police were all stationed around the entrance at the front, and the hostages were against the opposite wall, furthest from him.

There was a window to his left. Cocking his head, Matt listened for any sign of an alarm as he took one of the sticks from his belt and, placed it carefully against the window pane. With one good hit he felt the window give with a crack.

No one heard a thing.

Matt reached in and unlocked the window, climbing into the tiny office. Ahead of him he could hear one of the robbers pacing restlessly. From his left came the footsteps of another. He rocked forward onto the balls of his feet, muscles tense.

“He’s locked himself in that room with that kid, and he isn’t responding. I dunno what’s ha--”

The movement was perfectly timed. Matt threw the door open, catching the man in the face just as he passed by. There was a satisfying crunch as his nose broke and he stumbled, swearing, but Matt had already passed him up. He planted his feet just at the other robber turned. Matt didn’t need sight to know the man was terrified, and the thought made his adrenaline spike. With just the right amount of force he caught the man across the face with a right hook. He went down instantly.

“Motherfucker--”

The first man was still conscious. But there was also a click from the other side of the room as the remaining criminal heard the commotion and cocked his gun. _Shit._

Taking only a few seconds to check his surroundings, Matt deemed that the path to the armed robber was clear and spun, _throwing_ his stick at the last second. There was a shout of pain as it hit him between the eyes. Before he even hit the ground Matt could tell he was out cold.

In the momentary silence he heard the rapid breathing of the hostages louder than ever. Belatedly, someone said, “You saved us!” And then noise erupted everywhere.

“The bank is clear, I repeat, the bank is clear!”

“Move in to secure the hostages!”

At his feet Matt felt the remaining man scrabbling along the floor. _Oh, right._ Almost derisively he knelt down and cuffed him over the head. He stopped moving.

Now free to assist the hostages, he strode across the bank floor towards them, adrenaline still making his heart beat hard against his ribcage.

“You’re Daredevil, aren’t you?” said one of the students, clearly in awe. “I’ve heard about you.”

“What are you doing here?” asked another.

“Just, uh.” Shit, Matt was never good at the casual one-liners. Save that for Tony Stark or Spider-Man. “Just passing through,” he offered. “You guys okay?”

“More or less. But they took my friend into one of those offices,” said one of the students. He sounded panicked.

A bit of anxiety crept into Matt’s own mind at the boy’s words. What exactly _had_ happened back there? “I’ll go check right now.”

There were still two heartbeats coming from the room as he approached, which was promising. He just hoped the slower one-- the heartbeat of an unconscious person-- wasn’t this student’s friend. Taking a deep breath, Matt knocked on the locked door. “Hey, kid, you can come out now,” he reassured. “Everything’s been dealt with.”

For a moment the room was silent. Then Matt could hear someone scrambling to their feet, moving towards the door. A _click_ sounded as it was unlocked, and then it was swinging open and--

“ _Daredevil?_ ” the kid said incredulously. And instantly, Matt recognized that voice.

He was speechless. What were the odds? Here he was, stopping a bank heist in the middle of the day, in which a group of students were being held hostage, and Spider-Man-- _Spider-Man!_ \-- was among them.

 _Which means,_ his brain supplied unhelpfully, _That Spider-Man is a_ teenager.

“Uh, yeah,” Matt managed to say. “Are you alright?”

“Me? Oh, uh, yeah I’m fine, just...” Spider-Man stepped out of the room. “Just glad you could make it!”

Matt caught the sound of nylon against cotton against denim. The kid was wearing a windbreaker, a t-shirt, and jeans. Wow, this whole thing felt surreal to him for some reason. “So am I.”

“Yeah.” There was a shuffled sound as the kid fidgeted awkwardly. He seemed to know that he’d been found out, but didn’t really want to admit it. “Well,” he said at length. “I’d better get back to my group. Pretty sure we’re not gonna be going back to the high school today.”

 _High school_ . “Right,” Matt replied offhandedly. Then, again, “Right! Yeah, okay.” The kid brushed past him and started towards the door, but suddenly Matt found he couldn’t just let him walk off without saying _something_. “Hey,” he called.

Spider-Man stopped in his tracks. Turned halfway to face Matt again. “Yeah?”

Bowing his head in an attempt to be discreet, Matt said, “I’ll meet you in Queens tonight. I’ll call you.”

There was a pause, followed by a resigned sigh. “Alright,” Spider-Man replied. “Alright, fair enough.” Then he was gone, walking out of the bank to be reunited with his classmates.

Matt was left standing in front of the office. Inside he could still hear the steady heartbeat of the unconscious criminal, knocked out with two swift, precise blows. Despite his shock over the whole situation, he found himself smiling. It was hard not to admire the kid’s skill.

\---

By the time Spider-Man arrived at their chosen meeting spot that night, Matt had already been sitting there for fifteen minutes.

“Sorry,” the webslinger said by way of greeting. “Busy day. Turns out your loved ones get worried when you’re held at gunpoint during a school field trip.”

Matt smiled. “I can only imagine.” He was quiet for a second, formulating what he wanted to say next, but his companion beat him to it.

“So, uh. You got my call, huh?”

“Actually, it’s funny you say that,” Matt replied. “I just… I heard what was happening on the radio. I decided to help at random. It wasn’t until I was at the scene that I got your call.”

“Wow, that’s lucky.” Spider-Man took a seat next to him with a sigh. “That call was pretty risky,” he admitted almost sheepishly. “That’s why they took me into that room.”

Matt frowned. “They caught you doing that?”

“Yeah, and they weren’t happy about it. The one guy, the one I knocked out, he said-- Well, I’m sure you heard. You’ve got ears like a bat, dude.”

“That’s what they tell me.”

“Yeah I bet. Hell’s Kitchen loves you. They’re all about Daredevil, the masked vigilante!” There was a rush of air as, if Matt had to guess, Spider-Man waved his arms around in a grand gesture. “I wish people took _me_ that seriously,” he added, quietly.

An opening in the conversation. That was his cue. “You only just started though, didn’t you?” Matt asked. “Believe me, I didn’t have it easy at the beginning. I got shot at a lot by the cops. Lots of arrest warrants. The whole gamut.”

“I guess so.” His companion didn’t sound very convinced. “But you had a breakthrough, you got a chance to prove yourself! I haven’t gotten that yet.”

Matt sighed. “It’s hard, really, at uh--” He paused. “At your age.” God, he felt so _old_ saying that.

“My age,” Spider-Man repeated with a laugh. “Yeah. S’tough to balance crime-fighting and homework.” Suddenly he clapped his hands, making Matt startle. “Hey, speaking of! Welcome to the People Who Know Spider-Man’s Identity Club! Grand total, two. That’s you and Mr. Stark.”

“Mr. Stark, huh.”

“Yeah, he gave me this suit and everything. Well, I had one before this, but it wasn’t _nearly_ as good.” It wasn’t hard to pick up the admiration in the kid’s tone.

“That’s nice of him. Does he want you for his crew over there? The Avengers?”

A sigh. “I dunno,” Spider-Man replied, honestly. “I did one job for him, but that was it. He hasn’t contacted me since. I don’t know if he trusts me.”

Matt nodded, deep in thought. Hopefully Stark kept a close eye on the kid until he grew into his new status as superhero. And really, it was good he had a support group, of sorts. Even if it only consisted of one person, that one person being Iron Man carried a lot more weight than anyone else.

Well. Actually, the kid had two people in his corner now.

“Hey, I know I already gave you my number,” Matt began, “but I want to give you my friend Foggy’s too. When I’m out at night I don’t have my phone with me, so if you ever need anything you can call him.”

“Foggy? Huh, okay.” Once Matt had rattled off the number and Spider-Man had taken it down somehow, the kid stood up and stretched. “Well, I should probably head back,” he announced. “It’s a school night.”

Matt shook his head, still in disbelief. “Alright. Yeah, see you around.”

He heard footsteps walking away. Then they stopped, and came back quicker than before. “Oh my God,” Spider-Man said. “I didn’t tell you my name. Frick. That’s supposed to be the coolest part, right? The big reveal?”

His distress drew an actual, honest laugh from Matt, who out of courtesy turned to look up at the kid. “I dunno,” he admitted. “My ‘big reveals’ have never been this graceful.”

“Oh. Well.” There was a rustling sound as, most likely, Spider-Man removed his mask. Though he couldn’t see him in the conventional sense, Matt focused all his attention on the finite sounds around them, how they bounced off of objects and formed a hazy image. He could see a slim face and a flash of unruly hair. That was all.

“My name’s Peter Parker,” the kid said. With mock reverence he added, “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He stuck a hand out, and Matt was sure to give it a firm shake.

“Likewise,” he replied, mimicking the same tone.

The thought of letting someone so young go out there and fight criminals, with all their weapons and questionable morality, didn’t sit well with Matt. He’d seen too much to turn a blind eye, figuratively speaking. But that was a discussion for another day.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ever since he’d discovered Peter’s identity, Daredevil began accompanying him on most of his missions. To be fair, it was both incredibly exciting and incredibly annoying. Teaming up with another red-clad superhero? Sign him up for that! But he’d wanted their crime-fighting duo to be built from the ground up, not because Daredevil had decided Peter needed a babysitter.

Peter sat on the roof of some apartment building in Hell’s Kitchen, dangling his legs over the edge, and sighed. Hadn’t he proved himself multiple times to the guy? Like, come on, he may be young, but how many fifteen year olds could hold a several ton vehicle over their head? Last time he checked, he was the only one who fit into that category. 

Ah, well. It wasn’t all bad. He and Daredevil did a lot of fighting together now, which was cool. Anyone else probably would have insisted that he stop crime-fighting completely. Which, to be fair, Daredevil  _ had  _ done that at first. But he had realized pretty quickly that he wasn’t going to keep Peter off his feet, and so had opted to just keep him in arm’s reach in case anything happened.

So here he was! Waiting on his horned friend to show up for the raid they had planned. Hell’s Kitchen had its name for a reason, Peter had come to realize; it seemed like every time a crime ring was exposed, three more would pop up in its place. Daredevil needed all the help he could get, and since Peter was woefully underappreciated in his own neck of the woods, he’d agreed to help out.

“You always show up this early?”

Peter jumped nearly a foot in the air and turned, half of him on the roof and the other half braced against the side of the building, prepared to scuttle down the wall and out of sight. Then he caught sight of tiny horns and glinting red eyes, and relaxed. Speak of the devil (hah, good one Pete). He offered a salute to his fellow hero.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said wryly. “And um, well--” Suddenly Peter felt weird. Was it that obvious that he’d been waiting around eagerly for this thing to start? “You know, just-- just trying to make a good impression.”

Because of the cowl he couldn’t tell if Daredevil was  _ actually  _ raising an eyebrow at him, but it sure felt like it. Then he shrugged and took a seat next to Peter on the roof. “So the plan is, we flank them on both sides,” he began. “The warehouse isn’t that big, so we don’t have too much space to worry about, and crowding them from both sides will be disorienting. There are--” Daredevil cocked his head, listening intently for a second. “-- Eleven men inside, most likely all armed. One hostage.” 

Peter nodded. Damn, that super-hearing still freaked him out sometimes. The warehouse they were talking about was below them numerous stories, and across a wide street, positioned on the outskirts of the residential district. Peter had his spider sense going for him, but it didn’t hold a candle to Daredevil’s weird powers.

“Which side do I take?” he asked.

“Left. There’s a garage towards the back half of the facility, a loading dock. I’ll take right and go in first. You wait a few seconds and come in after me. By then they’ll all be focused away from your entrance.”

It was a solid plan, of course, so Peter couldn’t bring himself to complain about the “diverting the thugs away from the baby superhero” part. He stood up and shook himself a bit, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Alright!” he announced. “Ready when you are, boss.”

Daredevil got up and turned towards the fire escape-- he couldn’t scale buildings like Peter could, despite his acrobatic skills-- but then he hesitated. “I know you don’t do work like this too often, except when you’re with me,” he said, slowly, “so just… be careful.”

Peter sighed exasperatedly. “Man, you know me! When am I ever not careful?” His teammate looked like he was about to disagree, but Peter didn’t let him. “Listen, I know how it looks,” he continued, “being a teenager who goes out every night to beat the pulp out of criminals. You don’t think everyone I’ve ever told about this has treated me like glass?” He shook his head, looking out over the city. “I  _ will _ be careful, I promise. Just because you know who I am now, doesn’t mean I’m not capable of all those things I did  _ before  _ you found out. I haven’t changed.”

Finishing with his little speech, he snuck a glance at Daredevil. The man was watching him intently, and it felt like he could see right through Peter. His mouth was a straight, firm line, leaning towards a frown. Great.

But then, out of nowhere, he smiled. It wasn’t a wide smile-- more of a smirk, just the hint of some positive emotion. It made him look like he knew something Peter didn’t.

“I know how that feels,” he replied. “Believe me, I do.” He looked for a moment like he was going to elaborate, but then he turned away again. “Left side,” Daredevil called over his shoulder. “You’ll hear me enter the building. I don’t plan to do it quietly. That’s where you come in.”

Peter straightened up out of his slouch, feeling relieved. He had been  _ sure  _ he was going to get a lecture out of that! That was what happened every time he discussed his age with Mr. Stark, anyway. Maybe Daredevil really did have some sort of angle on the situation that Tony didn’t. “Right!” he said. “Okay, got it.” Without another word, he swung himself over the edge of the building.

He climbed down the site of the grungy brick building until he was low enough to stick a web to an abandoned complex across the street. In one smooth motion he was clinging to the other wall, just a few feet from the warehouse. Dropping onto the ground, Peter let out a breath. There weren’t many people around in this area at night, and he didn’t blame them; it was creepy here, full of buildings with boarded up windows and padlocked doors. Creepy, and dangerous. He could see why it was such a popular place for criminals to stake out. The threat of crime wasn’t even necessary to keep people away from these few blocks.

As he made his way towards the side alley Daredevil had indicated, he caught sight of a shadowy figure moving across the street. There was his partner. 

Peter took a left and spotted the loading bay they’d talked about. The garage door was closed but not locked, likely because some of the thugs in the building had used this way to get inside. Getting down on all fours, he slipped his fingers under the garage door and opened it just a fraction of an inch. He could hear muttered conversation, punctuated by a louder but more muffled sound. The hostage, maybe? It sure sounded like someone trying to talk while they had a sock in their mouth. 

Then there was a loud  _ bang  _ as a door was thrown open, met with shouts of surprise. That was Daredevil making his entrance. In the back of his mind, Peter began to count.

One: he heard a round of gunfire go off. Two: they were quickly followed by cries of pain. Three: the muffled shouts got louder, more panicked. Four: he could hear someone shout something about backup.

Five: he heard a scream that sounded an awful lot like Daredevil.

Throwing the garage door open-- with maybe more force than was necessary-- Peter sprinted into the open warehouse. There were stacks of crates arranged in rows that provided perfect cover.  _ And  _ a perfect foothold. Peter jumped, scaling one of the stacks in under a second, and caught sight of Daredevil swinging wildly at one of the remaining thugs. He looked clumsy, swaying on his feet at every step forward, but Peter couldn’t smell any blood. What had happened?

That was a mystery best saved for later, when neither of them were being shot at. Peter fired a web up into the rafters and swung into battle. “Hey, hey, hey!” he called, his tone patronizing to an annoying degree. “You picking on my friend here? What’s up with that?” The thug fighting Daredevil was caught completely off-guard, so Peter’s foot hit him in the jaw with a  _ crunch  _ and he went down instantly.

“Oh, shit,” Peter said as he landed. “Didn’t realize I had that much momentum going. Sorry about that, buddy.” He turned to face the last remaining enemy, who was scrambling across the floor, clearly looking for a gun. “As for  _ you! _ ” he announced with a point. “I’m going to have to ask you to stand down, sir.” 

Obviously the man didn’t listen, and obviously Peter was about to shoot a web at him to glue his hand, which had gotten hold of a weapon, to the floor. But then Daredevil was lurching forward suddenly, completely ignoring Peter in favor of rushing at the thug.

“Wait, wait!”

Daredevil didn’t stop. Instead he put all his weight into a vicious kick at the guy’s gut. There was an audible gasp as all the breath was knocked from his lungs. Peter ran forward, heart in his throat, because even though doubled over in pain he could see the man raising his gun, aiming it--

There was a final gunshot and Daredevil stumbled backwards, screaming through clenched teeth, clutching his shoulder.

“Okay, that’s-- that’s enough out of you,” Peter managed to say, finally webbing their final enemy and forcing him back onto the floor. Then, just for good measure, he tossed a light punch at the guy’s head. Coming from him, of course, it wasn’t exactly light at all, but it wouldn’t do any lasting damage. “I think I like you better unconscious,” he commented. His voice was shaky from adrenaline and anxiety, because wow, Daredevil had almost died right in front of him. That wasn’t something he experienced every day.

Behind him he heard a muffled thud as the superhero in question finally hit the floor. Peter turned around to see him lying there, breathing hard, teeth bared in a snarl. The red lenses in his mask were glinting in the low light of the warehouse.  _ Wow, _ he thought,  _ now I see why criminals think he’s so scary.  _

“Hey uh, Daredevil?” Peter said cautiously. “Boss?”

No response. Daredevil just stared up at the ceiling, breathing through his pain.

Alright, so he was clearly not doing so well. Peter walked to his side and knelt down, resting a hand on the shoulder that wasn’t injured. “Hey, um, can you stand? If not maybe I can carry--”

His spider sense flared to life in his head and, without thinking, he jumped backwards. Just in time to avoid a vicious swipe from one of Daredevil’s gauntleted fists.

“Whoa, whoa, hang on!” Daredevil was up on his feet now, his stance awkward and unsteady. How did the guy manage to keep  _ going  _ like this? “What’s wrong? What happened?”

When a second punch was thrown at him, Peter made to grab the fist this time. He caught it, thankful that his super strength outweighed Daredevil’s. The older hero released his grip on his injured shoulder to free up his other hand.

Before another move could be made, Peter had a sudden idea. He uncurled Daredevil’s fist and dragged him forward, pressing bloodied fingers to the spider emblem on his suit. Clearly the guy wasn’t thinking straight; maybe something tactile would help him calm down?

Miraculously, Daredevil froze. Panting hard, he asked, “Peter?” His voice was harsh, and his words too loud in the quiet room.

“Oh thank God,” Peter replied. “Yes, it’s me. Dude, what happened? Are you done trying to throttle me now?”

Daredevil frowned at that. His fingers had spread out against Peter’s chest, coming to rest over his collarbone. “Yeah, sorry, I just--” He cleared his throat self-consciously. “One of them shot some rounds off near my head. I can’t hear anything.” Though his voice remained steady enough, Peter heard a bit of a hitch on those last few words.

“Ohhhh.” That didn’t completely solve the mystery of why Daredevil had gone so ballistic on him, but it was enough of an explanation for now. “Okay, well we need to--”

Their conversation was interrupted by a muffled shout. Wow, he’d forgotten all about the hostage. Stupid! 

“Stay here,” Peter said. Moving towards the noise, he found a man tied to a chair behind one of the crate stacks. He wasn’t very old, maybe in his twenties. His eyes went wide as he saw Peter-- as he saw Spider-Man-- step up to him and pull the gag from his mouth.

“Oh God,” he choked out, “thank you.” 

“No problem, my man. Hey uh,” Peter looked back around the corner to check on Daredevil. The man was bracing his weight against another stack, looking way too unbalanced for Peter’s liking. “I have no idea what you were doing here,” Peter continued, “but I have some things to take care of, so like… If I just let you go, will you promise not to come this way again?”

The hostage nodded eagerly. It was impossible to tell if he was being sincere or not, but Peter couldn’t bring himself to think about that right now. Not when his friend was bleeding out across the room.

“Fair enough.” He helped the guy stand up and, after checking to make sure he wasn’t grievously injured, gave him a gentle push towards the door. “Run along now.”

“Yes, sir. And thank you!”

Behind his mask, Peter cracked a grin.  _ Sir.  _ He liked the sound of that. 

Returning to his teammate’s side, he was careful to keep his hands gentle when he slung one of Daredevil’s arms over his shoulder. “Alright, let’s get out of this joint,” he announced, hoping his voice sounded cheery enough.

It wasn’t until they were out the door that Daredevil said anything. “My place,” he said, his words clipped with pain. He rattled off an address, and Peter nodded.

“Alright. Next stop, Daredevil’s humble abode.”

He was able to find the place easily enough, and thankfully there was a fire escape leading up to one of the windows. Peter wasn’t sure he’d be able to wall climb  _ and  _ carry a masked vigilante on his back at the same time. As soon as they were inside he led Daredevil over to his couch. 

_ Wow, _ Peter mused.  _ What a weird thought. _ He’d never really imagined that he’d ever be in Daredevil’s actual apartment, let alone sit on his sofa.

Once everything was situated Peter sat down on the floor alongside the coffee table. He tugged off his mask, breathing deeply as fresh air hit his face. Daredevil looked pretty uncomfortable in his own mask and bloodied suit, but Peter knew better than to start pulling things off of him.

“No hospitals,” Daredevil said, loudly and to the ceiling. “Foggy. I gave you his number. Call him.”

“Right.” Peter didn’t carry his phone with him on missions; something like that was too easy to lose, and if someone got ahold of it they could easily figure out who he was. Even worse, they’d have access to all sorts of information about his loved ones. Luckily Mr. Stark had thought that through when he’d built Peter’s suit, and had hooked up a fancy sort of bluetooth to one of the cuffs on his wrists. 

Scrolling through the little hologram image of his contact page, Peter picked “Foggy” and hit the call button. His fellow superhero didn’t have access to the same tech he did, and relied on other people to take his calls for him while he was out.

After a few rings someone picked up and said, “Hello?” The voice sounded rough with sleep, and-- shit, Peter hastily checked his suit’s hud and realized it was almost one in the morning. 

“Hi uh, sorry, I know it’s late,” he said hastily. “But you’re Foggy, right?”

“Yeah, and who is this?”

“It’s Pe- I mean, uh, Spider-Man.” There was a noise of recognition on the other side of the line. “Listen, Daredevil needs your help. We’re at his apartment.”

Foggy swore, quietly but fervently, and Peter could hear the sound of shuffling in the background. “I’ll be over in a few,” he said. “Claire’s on duty tonight, but I can still help. Make sure he doesn’t bleed out.”  _ Click.  _ The line went dead.

Settling back to wait, Peter let out a slow sigh. It was weird being involved in the inner workings of Daredevil’s, uh… team? He knew that the man had told a few trusted people of his identity, but he had no idea they helped him out so much with his job. He guessed that was the benefit of being an adult in this business; your friends had a lot more power to assist you when you weren’t all high schoolers. 

After waiting for about fifteen minutes, making sure Daredevil had a rag pressed to his shoulder wound to slow the blood loss, there was a frantic knock at the door. Peter started and went to stand, but then he heard the familiar jingle of someone fumbling for keys. 

Just as the door began to swing open, Peter realized he wasn’t wearing his mask.  _ Shit.  _ He scrambled across the floor to where he’d left it, trying to jam it on over his head--

“I’m here, I’m here,” someone said behind him. 

Peter whipped around. His mask was only partway down his face. “Um,” he offered, helpfully. 

The two of them looked at each other for a second. Foggy was dead still, watching him from wide eyes. He didn’t seem like someone who would be in league with a masked vigilante: he was soft, with an expressive face and blond hair that curled around his ears. Judging by the look he was leveling Peter’s way, Foggy didn’t expect Spider-Man to look quite like this, either.

Peter sighed, pulling the mask back off of his head. “Alright, so now you know too,” he said defeatedly. “Just please don’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Foggy replied, still half in shock. “You’re a  _ kid? _ ”

“Hey!” Peter put up his hands defensively. “I’m turning sixteen in a few months. Cut me some slack.”

Foggy shook his head in disbelief. “Sixteen,” he said faintly. “Nothing should surprise me anymore.” Then he turned to the couch and caught sight of Daredevil. “Shit, okay, focusing back on this.” He hurried over, setting down the bag he’d brought with him on the coffee table. Peter shuffled to the side to give him more room.

Grabbing hold of Daredevil’s hand, Foggy squeezed it gently, pressing it to his chest just as Peter had done earlier. “Hey, buddy, I’m here.” Daredevil made a noise in the back of his throat and attempted a smile.

“Hey,” he croaked. “Here to help?”

“You bet.” Foggy peered over his friend’s body. “Shoulder, huh?”

“The bullet’s still in there. And, um, I can’t-” He gestured to the side of his head vaguely. “I can’t hear anything.”

“Shit.” Glancing over his shoulder at Peter, Foggy said, “Hey uh, would you mind getting out the tweezers from that bag? And the needle and thread. And some bandages, maybe.”

Peter nodded and started rummaging around, pulling out the things that had been listed. In the back of his mind he carefully catalogued the supplies they were using. Chances were, he’d need to know how to do this himself. As of yet he’d only suffered bruises and other injuries that healed with time; nothing that needed more attention than a good wash. 

“I’m gonna need to take your suit and everything off,” Peter heard Foggy say, and his focused snapped back to the conversation. Daredevil nodded.

“D’you, uh,” Peter gestured to the other room. “D’you want me to go? I’ll understand if you do.”

He didn’t receive a response right away, and took that as a sign. As he stood up, however, Foggy abruptly said, “Do you think he should leave?”

That got Daredevil’s attention. “No,” he said, firmly. He squirmed on the couch, propping himself up against a pillow with a pained grimace. “Stay.” Peter was about to protest, but then the older hero started speaking again. “It’s only fair,” he reasoned. “And I trust you.”

Peter felt something warm grow in his chest at that. “O-Okay,” he stuttered. “Alright, I’ll stay.” He sat down again, this time on the edge of the coffee table, ready to help. Two sets of hands were better than one, right?

With their secret identity issues all sorted out, Foggy got to work. He unzipped Daredevil’s suit, revealing a muscled chest and stomach and exposing the bullet wound to the air. It was barely oozing blood anymore, but the skin around it was stained from when he’d first been shot.

Then Daredevil reached up with one shaking hand and pulled off his mask.

He looked different than Peter had pictured, but somehow… right. Younger than anticipated. His hair was dark and messy, kind of like Peter’s own; he was relieved to see that he wasn’t the  _ only  _ superhero who got mask hair. He looked sort of haggard, especially with the stubble framing his jaw, and his eyes were dark and strangely unfocused. Almost like-- 

Almost like.

“Oh, my God,” Peter said aloud. “I’m  _ such  _ an idiot.”

Foggy turned to look at him, confused, as he dumped Daredevil’s suit on the floor in a heap. “Why?” 

Peter shook his head. Everything made sense now. “After he lost his hearing in the warehouse,” he began, “he started acting really weird. He almost knocked me out when I went to help him. It was like he had no idea who I was. I just thought he’d been disoriented because of what happened, but… ” He glanced down at where Daredevil’s hand had snuck back up to rest against Foggy’s throat. Right over his vocal cords. “He couldn’t see at  _ all _ , could he?”

“Nope,” confirmed Foggy. He was holding the tweezers in hand now, and turned back around to situate his friend on the sofa. “He uses sound to see, so he had no way of telling who you were.”

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Daredevil offered, his syllables slurring together. Clearly he was using his friend’s responses to guess what Peter was asking.

“Hey, no harm done,” Peter said lightly. “I mean you almost punched me out, but you didn’t, so there. Crisis averted!”

“Uh, guys? Not to interrupt our little three way conversation, but it’s probably best to get Mr. Daredevil here patched up as soon as possible.” Beckoning with his free hand, he instructed Peter on where to stand, having him brace his hands on either side of Daredevil’s neck. 

As he did so, the vigilante laughed under his breath. “Mr. Daredevil,” he echoed. He looked up, gaze more or less resting on Peter’s face. “My name’s Matt. Matt Murdock.”

Peter grinned. He reached down to grab hold of one of his fellow crime-fighter’s hands, pressing the callused fingers against his neck. “Nice to meet you, Matt,” he replied. “Has anyone ever told you that you look a  _ lot  _ like Daredevil?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Lemme know what you think, thanks in advance B^)


End file.
